A Gamble with a King
by arrowsandroses
Summary: When her father gambles away the last of her family's belongings, Hana feels a little screwed. When the person doing the screwing happens to be her arrogant classmate, she wonders how creative she'll have to get to set everything right again. [Seto Kaiba x OC]


In the metropolitan downtown of Domino City, duelists never rest. Rare cards sell for the same amount as a new cellphone, snatching savings until the pool dwindles and demands sky-rocket. Card trading stole the revenue on the black market, attracting a new pool of clientele, from elementary school kids to struggling single parents. Those working in any field, from the grocery clerks to the accountants tucked away in skyscrapers—everyone was sucked in by the latest phenomena.

Everyone, pointedly, except for Hana Mori.

"How was school today?" her father chimes from the storage closet. Her mother sweeps at her feet with the sharp blades of her broom, shooing Hana out of the entryway. She nearly trips on her thigh-high boots, tangled with a pair of her mother's sandals.

"Uh, it was fine!" Hana hollers back. She steps over the rest of the misshapen pile. "My geography test was pretty solid. I think everyone did okay on that, though."

"It's important!" her mother reminds her. It isn't worth it to answer back with a sully "I know", so Hana moves into the kitchen and tosses her bag on the counter.

"Any business today?" she asks as she rummages through the cupboards, searching for canned soup. Yelling discussions between the three of them are common, especially when the only time they share a room together is when they're working in the store or eating dinner on a holiday.

Even from the kitchen, she hears her father's soft sigh, like a muffler gasping on exhaust. "It's okay," he says, "I'd like it to get better over the next few weeks. I'd like us to start selling those new card games, but I'd hate to dishonour Mr. Mouto."

Hana shakes her head. "Dad, I really doubt he'll care. Practically everyone's buying them. At least it could draw attention."

"Honey," her mother interrupts, "would you mind turning on the news?"

She abandons her search for food and heads for the living room. Despite her mother's efforts, dad has the place nearly dismantled. Stacks of magazines linger between the saggy, cushioned chairs, and bursting boxes of knickknacks teeter dangerously beside the wall. The photos of Hana and her family rest on an odd angle, and after she reaches the remote, flicking on the television, she steps over the rug to fix them.

"—another astonishing defeat! You heard it here first, folks: Seto Kaiba has annihilated the French dynamite Napoleon! When it comes to skill, one could even say… he draws a little short."

The stupid pun earns a snort from her plump lips, but she turns to catch sight of the named victor. Unlike the solemn stare he wears to school, Kaiba boasts a proud smirk and the crowd roars for it. His arms guard his chest like idling snakes, but the great ruler of the game itself looks at peace, even in this moment. It's surprising to see him dressed in his school uniform, but it creates an air of youthfulness around him. It dawns on Hana that the unfamiliar Napoleon probably took his ambiance as spoiled amateurism.

"Oh, that darn game's on again!" mother says, dragging Hana from the clutches of her thoughts. She turns to find the weathered woman standing at the entrance to the room, the broom no longer in her reach. "Ever since this game came out, it's all the reporters seem to talk about. And this one—" she indicates Hana's classmate before the camera spans out across the crowds "—is always on it, too. Isn't it terrible that such a young CEO would be so warped by games?"

"I'm not sure," Hana shrugs. She doubts she'll ever own a company in her life, even if business does pick up. She hasn't quite figured out why the casted prodigy bothers showing up to school yet, considering his absences earn as much gossip as the rare days he makes an appearance.

The camera trains to his face again, and Hana stares into his blue eyes, ignited by the lights and magnificence of first place. He looks almost royal, bored by the attention and the swarming hands, reaching out to him as their lips chorus his name.

"Hm," her mother sighs from behind. "I hope they return to real news soon."

Hana returns to the kitchen behind her. Ten minutes later, the news report starts.

* * *

><p>The following day at school, Seto Kaiba's world title earns the top seat for gossip. Hana's barely in ear-shot of her friends as she enters the classroom, but she can see by the anguished look on Joey's face that it isn't a victory he's celebrating. Tristan stands behind him, shouldering him like a biding guard dog, while Yugi sits across the desk, preparing the table top for a new game. Tea, the last of her group, jumps as Hana winds her arms around her waist and tucks her into her lengthy side.<p>

"Wouldn't the sky look lovely if it was lavender?" Hana asks in mock, dreamy fashion.

"Hello to you, too, Hana!" Tea laughs. Hana hasn't hung around them for long, but she's known Tea since elementary. The smaller brunette curls a finger through her short, brown hair, plaited just an inch above her shoulders.

"It's garbage!" Joey yells over their soft whispers. "I'm sick of hearing about dat Kaiba nerd. Big fucking deal, he got a company from his daddy. I got a jacket from my old man—you don't hear me braggin' about it."

"Not the same things," Tristan points out.

Yugi looks up from shuffling his deck. "It's pretty impressive," he says earnestly, and everyone's expression softens. The Yugi Effect erases the tension set by their absent classmate, and a moment later, Joey moves on to something else.

"Did anyone else study for trig?" he asks. Tea nods against Hana's shoulder, prompting her sigh.

"No," Hana confesses.

Everyone turns to her. "The new ScReW CD came out. That stole away most of my night," she says.

Joey laughs. "Right on! We can have detention together again!"

"You two need to make a better effort," Tea scolds. She shrieks moments later when her taller assailant pinches her side.

"School's not a thing for me!" Hana says brightly, pulling away to wrap around Yugi's vacant side. He watches her plant her rear on a vacant desk and unravel her thin, trailing legs. "I'm a working woman, through and through."

Joey's blond brow arches. He leans over to flick her narrow ankle. "Yeah? And here I thought you just sucked at math!"

The group chuckles, only quietening down when she chants over them. "Hey! I do my parent's taxes every year. I'm good at reasonable math, but no idiot on the street gives a damn about physics or trig."

"Better watch which streets you're on," the blond yankee teases.

Yugi sets his deck down, reaching for Joey's assembly—without knowing a thing about the game, Hana has a weighing nerve that he's already messed it up.

"Uh huh," she muses. "Hurry up and lose to Yugi so Tea and I can grab a coffee."

After another brutal defeat at Yugi's hands, the two girls head for the cafeteria, Hana's little Sailor Scout coin purse jingling lightly between her catch-and-throws.

"I'll give him credit: Joey's… at least understanding it better," Tea says.

Hana snorts. The courtyard is packed with pockets of students, their blue and pink uniforms blending into a purple hue. She nods to a few classmates hovering by the food vendor. "That was terrible credit," she says, shrugging away from a bulging backpack. "I don't know. It's okay to watch every now and then, but I'd still rather play a real sport."

"There's a lot of strategy behind it. You might enjoy it more than you think," Tea urges.

"Maybe," Hana agrees for the sake of her friend. The line-up at the coffee stand consists of two students, so she jogs the rest of the way before it fills up. Once a chilled chai tea sits in her hand, she returns to Tea's side.

"I'm thinking of looking for another job," Hana admits while Tea steals a sip from her drink. She's half-way through swallowing it, when her shout is massacred by her trembling coughs. Hana rubs her back until her sputtering calms down.

"Thanks!" she wheezes between gulps of airs. "Gosh. Really, Hana? You barely have enough time as it is."

"I know," Hana says. "But the shop isn't so good right now. I was thinking I could try… like, makeshift modelling or something."

"Makeshift modelling?"

"Fake modelling," Hana explains terribly. "It'd be easy pay, right? Find a photographer who wants to make it big and let him use me to further both of our gains."

"It sounds like a slippery slope," Tea warns. Her heart could swallow the world; despite her persistent badgering, she's never empty of affection or genuine care. The first time Hana wound up on her doorstep, puking into her mother's planted pots, Tea covered for her and led the stumbling giant into her room so Hana could sleep it off. When Hana woke up in the morning, sober, she had a cloth soaking up the sweat stained to her forehead, and two, tiny, blue pills of Tylenol beside an unopened bottle of water.

From the look on Tea's face, Hana gathers she's reliving the same memory. "I'll behave," she says, but she's unsure whether there's truth in those words. Tea washes down her remaining coughs with another swallow of chai tea, before Hana's hands gingerly swipe it away.

* * *

><p>On the tusk of Sunset Avenue, three blocks away from her family's shop and home, Hana spots a flyer promoting a new dueling tournament. The baby blue paper snips at her heels, its corners curling from the violent passage of wind. She stomps on it with her leather loafer, perhaps too aggressively because a high-pitched chuckle gathers her attention.<p>

"You don't need to dislike it _that_ much."

A woman sporting a purple corset and wild blond curls approaches. Her shiny heels and thinly-veiled fishnets leave Hana envious, and wishing the uniform policy at her school had room for leniency. Her own pink top and blue skirt would make any polished lady cringe, but in Mai's direct view, she's certain the review will be scathing.

"They need to learn to tape these properly," Hana murmurs absently.

Mai laughs and collects a few strands of her hair between her fingers. Hana watches as the hair billows in the wind. "It's been a while. Hana, right?"

"Yep," Hana says. "Still looking like you stepped out of a boutique, Mai."

"It's important to heighten your appearance," she says. The corner of Hana's mouth quirks, but Mai's returning grin is like a bite.

"But this…" The lengthy brunette watches her eyes sweep over her crumbled outfit. "I'm a little disappointed to see."

"It's just a uniform," Hana tries to brush off. "I'm the best looking one in it."

"That doesn't say much for the rest of your girlfriends."

It's a steep decline on the road to shit-talking, and Hana would hate to let the older woman ensnare her in a trap. "Well, it was nice seeing you, Mai. Maybe I'll catch you at the club again?"

"Hardly," she dismisses. "U-Block is done. If you happen to take a walk out of that drastic medley, maybe you'll find me again."

Typical Mai keeping the location of the latest rave all to herself. But Mai's character isn't a deplorable one, regardless of her haughty attitude. The first time Hana met her, Hana was on her knees over a toilet, debating between throwing up and drowning in the murky bar water. Mai collected her off the floor and forced her to eat little pieces of bread until her nausea was under control. Then, when Hana could stumble around on her legs again, Mai took her on a wild ride through downtown in the back of a stolen limousine.

Mai's grin etches into her face like a foreign feature, too manufactured to wear kindness. Hana wonders if, like Tea only hours ago, she's recalling their past adventures together.

But Mai waves the younger girl off as she steps around her. It's odd seeing Mai today, of all days. Hana doesn't know much about her, except that she's glamorous and always surrounded by men who can improve that luxury. It strikes her as odd that she'd be hanging out in this area, though; despite the access to downtown, Hana's neighbourhood boasts far from abundance. The apartment buildings maintain a decent paint-job, but she knows the inside halls wilt from mold and neglect. Most of the laundry wires sport one or two outfits, every day, because the folks here can't afford much more. The city's been trying to evacuate the area for years now, regarding it as nothing but a slum.

Hana never paid it much thought growing up; not until someone at school brought it to her attention.

"_Where do you live?" It was such a harmless question, like asking what your parents do for a living. Aya fastened a ribbon around her wrist, absently waiting for Hana's reply while the teacher's back was turned. _

"_In the Blue Forest block," Hana said, still taller than the peers around her despite their youth._

_The petite girl snickered into her sleeve. "Really? And here I thought that bad smell was coming from Wheeler."_

"_Oi!" Joey shouted over her, but Hana was already fighting the heat surged along her neck. There were a few choice words she could've used to defend herself, but winning back Aya's attention wasn't worth it. _

Kids around her had laughed and eventually forgotten about it. The incident took place over two years ago, but still trespassed into her head whenever she was caught off guard along the walk home. Maybe people here had to scrape harder for their buck; and yeah, the community boasted a higher concentration of homeless folk, but they didn't hurt anybody. Everyone knew each other, so even if they couldn't afford to spend much and help each other out, there was enough respect to avoid big-time burglaries.

Hana felt safer on these streets than she did in the ritzy highlands.

When she arrives home, her mood has descended to her gut, swathe with gloom and resentment. She kicks off her shoes off and shrugs off her bag on the kitchen counter before realizing she hasn't seen nor heard her parents—it's a little strange, considering the decline in business. She quickly finds a granola bar and makes her way to the conjoining door that links her home to the shop.

Sure enough, she finds her parents behind the counter, their heads tucked together examining something buried from your line of vision. "Hey," she calls to them, and her mother's head rises.

"Oh, honey," she says, and she looks near white.

"Mom."

Hana runs the rest of the way. Maybe her thoughts were too optimistic—locals might be safe, but businesses were never guaranteed protection in a low-income neighbourhood. Her family's been robbed in the past, when her parents first opened shop, and with dad's recent habits, maybe it was about to start again.

As she wraps around her mother's side, she spots her father clutching something between his thin, wrinkled fingers. It looks like another flyer, this time sporting a sickly yellow wash. His hand blocks most of the written content, but she reaches for the corner, gently clasping it in hand. Her father releases it to her gentle tugs.

It's not a flyer. The header roisters the name Kaiba Corp, complete with logo and contact information. Hana skims across the formal lettering until she finds the source of their dismay, and that ugly feeling swimming in her gut drops all the way down to her toes.

"They can't do that," she says. She hardly notes her own trembling hand as she crinkles the edge of the paper. It's dated from today, and the words read like dry, pointed malice.

"That isn't legal!"

"We have ninety days to vacate," dad says brightly, but his voice has never sounded coarser. Hana stares at him over the paper, wondering how he can stand against his trembling. "It's very nice of them to give us warning," he whispers.

"Nice?" Hana scoffs. "This is absolute bullshit!"

"Hana—"

"No," she interrupts. She slams the eviction notice on the counter and the store echoes the resounding bang. "We own this property. All of our savings are invested here. They can't just take it without at least inquiring—"

In the middle of her rant, her mother bows her head and her father's smile diminishes. She swallows, pausing from any further rhetoric.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Her mother wraps her arms around Hana's narrow shoulders, burying her face in the side of her daughter's arm. She's too tiny to reach any higher, but Hana's arms are too stiff to console her. Over her head, her father watches his wife, his eyes refusing to lift and face the glare of his offspring.

"I lost the deed a month ago," he admits. Hana's throat hurts to swallow. "I lost it during one of the plays. Kemo—he's a good guy. Very good. Knows this neighbourhood well. He was gonna let us stay, let me work off the money to buy it back, but… it seems he's sold it to his boss."

She doesn't ask who his boss is. She knows that much already.

Her mother squeezes her closer, but Hana shrugs off her attempts.

"Okay," she says.

"Hana, honey, we are so—"

"No, mom," she interrupts. "emHe/em's sorry. As he should be. The two of you can figure this out. I gotta go."

Hana hates the look of shame washing across her father's face, but it hurts even more to open her mouth. Whatever courage she had, whatever sympathy she stored up over the past few months has turned her will to iron. She darts around the counter, dashing past the racks until she's out on the street.

She runs against the sweeping wind, ignoring it as it ruffles her uniform into ragged wrinkles; she runs until her calves cramp, and then she runs even further. It's ten blocks away, a noticeable beacon in the sky, and as she pants outside of its grand doors, Kaiba Corp renders her momentarily speechless.

A few passerbys gawk as they trudge by, but Hana gathers a few more breaths before venturing inside. Exotic potted plants sandwich the entryway, creating a fanning effect as she enters. Off to the side, plush leather furniture circles a crystal-carved coffee table offering an assortment of Belgium chocolates. The window walls are clear of streaks, opening the room to the hurrying street where just moments ago, she could only see her reflection. A pretty, smiling receptionist waits behind the front desk, clear of any skirmishes or paper. She maintains her professional smile, despite Hana's haggard approach.

"I need to see Seto Kaiba. Now."

"Do you have an appointment?" she asks, tilting her head to the side.

"Sure I do," Hana says. "My fist has a very pressing matter with his face. You can tell him it's urgent."

Her smile slips away. "I'm sorry, miss, but I'm going to have to ask you—"

The elevator in the centre of the room dings, and before the secretary can finish her attempt to discharge her, Hana marches towards the parting door. She's one of the tallest girls in school, but that doesn't hold a match to Seto's stature. He easily dwarfs her frame, but it's the first time since she's known him that she's ever tried to measure. Rage licks her baited words, curling behind her mouth like prisoners reaching out of their cells. Kaiba's focus trains on a thin tablet clutched carefully in his hand, and Hana's pace flags the notice of his two bodyguards before he's even assessed her presence.

"You!" she shouts. He takes his time lifting his head, as though her outburst blends with the soft music emitting from the speakers tucked into the corners. "You arrogant, monopolizing, egotistical son of a bi—"

One of the bodyguards cuts in front of her, blocking her view of the young CEO. Hana recognizes the massive man immediately; it's Kemo, the local gambler her father often visits. The one he bid her entire life to, and lost.

"YOU'RE EVEN WORSE!" she rages, jutting her finger in his face. Kemo takes her wrist and holds it above her head; his grip is threatening, as though he's ready to snap it in two, given the word.

"Sorry, Mr. Kaiba," he says curtly. "It's only one of the pests still holding up your expansion project. I'll see her out."

He lifts her lithe form without any effort, easily tossing her over his shoulder, but Hana's gaze reaches Kaiba once more. He studies her with an uncaring expression, and she's never hated anyone more.

"If I were you, I'd drop out of school!" she warns him, her word erupting like spitfire. Her fingers curl into fists, slamming into Kemo's back with every word. "I'm serious! If I see you in the hallway, these two won't be there to protect you from the pounding you earned a long time ago! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG—"

"Shut up," Kemo orders, and yelps when she retaliates with an elbow to the back of his head.

Kaiba doesn't say a word, and a moment later, Kemo tosses her onto the sidewalk, nearly sending her into bustling traffic until her skid halts her at the edge. Several pedestrians gawk at her, but Hana's more concerned with her left thigh cut up from the pavement.

"Come here again, and I'll take you as payment for the rest of your father's debts," he warns. He straightens his tie which scrunched beneath her struggling legs. The malice in his voice makes her shiver.

Hana closes her legs together as he walks back inside. Nobody moves to help her, and for that, she's thankful. The cool air settling from the night atmosphere works to calm her anger, and soon, she has enough sense to peel her legs off the walk. She glances down at her side, her thigh streaking thick, red fingers into a criss-cross pattern. It would almost look beautiful, if it weren't her own blood.


End file.
